by Lynda Lukow
Desire kindled anew. He dragged himself from the pallet, donned his trews, and stalked to the door.
In the hallway, he called to Maggie. “If ye please, Lady Mackintosh needs a bath.”
If she could kill with her eyes, Connor would have just taken his last breath. He waited in the corridor long enough to hear Maggie’s gasp. He smiled, content he had a witness to the consummation of his marriage.
Chapter Eighteen
Heaven must have had torrential rains. The water came up to Kasey’s chest. Her naked chest? She always thought angels wore flowing white kirtles.
Mayhap Hell had a flood. Nay. Even Hell’s fires could not blaze in water. And the hands massaging her head felt too good.
She opened her eyes and saw Evonne’s face. Dear Lord, she had died.
Evonne smiled, though tears brimmed in her eyes. “Ye be awake, milady, and yer eyes look clear. How do ye feel?”
“Alive.”
Her best friend laughed. “’Tis good to hear.”
“Be my mother here?”
Evonne felt Kasey’s brow. She shrugged and looked at an older woman at her side. “She be cool.”
“I be hungry—”
The woman smiled. “I shall get ye fare posthaste.”
Kasey watched over her shoulder as the woman left the room. Another woman, large with child, sat behind her. “I dinna ken angels could have babes.”
The woman held onto her rounded belly and grinned. “I think not. It appears ye no longer need me, and I shall no longer need this.” She fumbled behind her neck, then drew forth two leather thongs. With a tug, the healing stone appeared from the top of her bodice. She crossed the room and tied the amulet around Kasey’s neck. “I shall see ye soon, Lady Kasey.”
After she left, Kasey turned back to Evonne. “Ye have always told me the truth. Be I dead?”
“Nay, milady. Would ye like me to pinch ye?”
She shook her head. “Mayhap angels feel pain. But if I be alive, then how can I see ye as clear as day?”
“Because I be here?”
“Ye be where?”
“At the MacPherson holding.”
“Why would ye haunt this place?”
Evonne laughed as she reached out and took her friend’s hand.
“Yer hand be warm and strong. I dinna think angels felt real.”
“What must I do to prove we both live?”
“Ye canna be.” Memories of her best friend’s lifeless form assailed her. She took a deep breath and banished them.
Evonne rinsed the soap from Kasey’s hair, then helped her rise from the tub. After she dried her friend’s body, she held open a chemise to slip over Kasey’s head. “Gavin found me after they dumped me outside the walls. He tended me, and then took me to another holding.”
Kasey pushed her head and arms through the openings. “Gavin?”
Evonne pulled the cloth down her friend’s hips. “Aye. I owe him my life.” She pulled a light green kirtle from a chest, laid out the gown on the bed, and gathered up the hem.
Tears brimmed in Kasey’s eyes while she donned the garment. “He came back for ye.”
“Aye, milady. We wed nigh on a fortnight past.” Evonne led Kasey to a stool and combed her hair.
Joy for her friend’s good fortune warred with sorrow over her own poor chances. She wiped the tears that breached her eyes and smiled as best she could. “I be happy for ye.”
“Ye dinna sound happy.”
Kasey said naught while her friend braided her hair, then pull a triangular cloth from a chest.
“Could ye hold this please? I need to find some pins.”
Kasey fingered the fine linen. She had never seen a more beautiful kertch.
“Och, I canna remember where I put them. No matter. This will do for now.” A silk cord dangled from Evonne’s hand.
“Ye will look beautiful.” Kasey smiled.
Evonne’s hand flew up to her hair and felt around her head. She blushed. “I forgot mine again? Gavin will be displeased.” She took the kertch from Kasey’s hand and laid it on her friend’s head.
Kasey snatched it off. “Have ye lost yer wits? Only married women wear this.”
“Do ye remember naught of this morn?”
Kasey shook her head. “Did I miss aught of import?”
Maggie laughed as she entered the room carrying a tray. “Aye, milady, but it be not our place to remind ye.” She set the tray on a chair and slid it before Kasey. “There will be ample time for that later. First, ye must eat.”
Kasey’s stomach grumbled agreement. “I feel as if I have eaten naught in a fortnight.”
Maggie caught Evonne’s arm and pulled her towards the door. “We shall return in a while. After ye eat, I expect ye to rest. Food and sleep will have ye back on yer feet in a trice.”
****
Belowstairs, Connor ducked as a third pot hurled past his head. “Did Euan ken ye be a shrew afore he married ye?”
“Aye, unlike yer wife who knows not what an insensitive lout she married.” Annie flung a pitcher.
Connor caught it, slammed it on the table, and circled behind his sister. She spun around with a knife in her hand. “No thank ye, Lady MacPherson, I already have a fresh cut.”
“Where? I shall be happy to remove the damaged limb.”
He grabbed her hand, turned her, and pulled her back to his chest. “Listen to me.”
She tried to struggle free, but he held fast. “Sometimes things be not as they seem. Ye ken why I couldna delay the vows.”
She stomped on his foot.
“Ye try my patience, sister.”
“Ye disappoint me, brother. Maggie told me ye exerted yer husbandly rights.”
“I had hoped she would. Can ye not see, Annie? The marriage must appear valid.”
She stilled in his arms.
“Mayhap now that ye have calmed, ye wish to see the nick in my upper thigh?”
“Did it bleed much?”
“Enough to suit its purpose.” Connor kissed her temple. “Ye ken this be our secret.”
She kissed his cheek. “Forgive me, Connor. I should have known better. Would my present condition excuse my bearing?”
“Aye, but for yer penance ye must keep Maggie, Evonne, and Ciara from scratching out my eyes.”
Connor’s lighter spirit plunged after he entered Kasey’s chamber. Maggie’s scowl and Evonne’s glare would have felled a lesser man.
He had no recourse for Maggie, who had followed Annie to the MacPherson holding and pledged her fealty to Euan. But Evonne? He glowered at her. “Ye have pledged yer fealty to me, and with that oath comes trust. Leave this chamber and return not until ye wipe the disgust from yer face.”
Both women rose to leave. Maggie paused at the threshold. “Ye disappoint me, Connor.”
Before he could say aught, she slammed the door. He sighed and gained Kasey’s side. He kissed her cheek. “Wife.”
His chest tightened. Never had a more beautiful word tumbled from his lips. Difficult times lay ahead, but together they could cope with whatever came their way.
He took heart in her cool skin and the trencher with naught but crumbs. They had won one battle.
He yawned and looked out the window. Though the sun had not yet begun its descent. He could think of no better way to spend the time before the evening meal than resting with her in his arms.
“Connor?”
He groaned and rubbed his chin over Kasey’s hair. His hand slid from her hip to her buttocks and pulled her closer.
“Connor!”
He clenched his teeth. “I ken not who dares to wake me, but he will lose his hand if he continues to shake my shoulder.”
“The guests arrive soon.”
Connor’s eyes flashed open. He bolted from the pallet and ran a hand through his hair. He had not meant to fall asleep, but his wife’s softness had lulled him. “Be ye ready, Dillon?”
“Aye, milord. Gavin be in the alcove on the far side
. Would ye like this side or above the main door?”
“This side be mine. If aught goes awry, I wish to be closest to this chamber.” He bent and kissed Kasey’s cheek, then looked at his youngest brother. “Have ye seen Evonne or Maggie?”
“Laird MacPherson has ordered the women to remain in a well-guarded antechamber.”
Connor wished he had taken like measures. Then he remembered the exhaustion that had overcome him after Dragon’s Breath and hoped Kasey felt similarly drained. All the same, he wished he had a key to lock the chamber door.
****
Kasey awoke unsure whether dawn or dusk approached. She wiped the sands of sleep from her eyes and stretched. The pinch in her upper arm proved the arrow wound had started healing. She carefully rolled onto her back and grinned, unable to remember the last time she felt naught more than a dull ache.
Hope rose. She sat up and waited but the room failed to spin. She swung her legs over the side of the pallet and stood. The room grew no darker, and her limbs stayed strong.
If she could cross to the window without falling, she would honor the occasion with a bounty of fare.
She reached for a wrap and grabbed the first cover she felt. A Mackintosh plaid. Evonne must have left it behind. She wondered how Gavin would cope with her friend’s forgetfulness. Men considered their tartans almost holy, to disrespect them almost sacrilege.
Gavin would probably kiss her senseless, thereby giving her an excuse for her lapse. Kasey grinned. Her friend had not only survived the brutal beating, but she had also married the man who had captured her heart. Another reason to feast.
Still, Evonne’s good fortune did not give Kasey the right to wear the Mackintosh colors. She walked to a chest and lifted the lid. Inside laid her blue kirtle, but not her arisaide.
A swatch of maroon in the hearth caught her eye. She poked the material from the dying embers onto the stones. The soot and ash could not hide the remnants of the Cameron colors.
Who had tossed her shawl into the hearth? And why? The answers mattered not. She had no desire to ever again don the Cameron plaid.
A warm breeze drew her to the window.
“Milady!”
“It be good to see ye agin, Robert.”
“I be relieved to see ye stand, milady.” He bowed.
After he straightened, Kasey furrowed her brow. The waning light must be playing tricks on her mind. He looked to be wearing a Mackintosh plaid, too.
“Be aught amiss, milady?”
The other men who milled about formed a loch of Mackintosh plaid with an occasional MacPherson island. In the distance lay a shore of Grant tartan with an inlet of Camerons.
She swallowed hard and forced her gaze back to Robert. She nodded at him, then backed away. Her stomach growled like a hungry beast. She would find answers after she ate.
The MacPhersons had eagerly shared their fare earlier that day. Mayhap they would not mind feeding her again. She followed the mouth-watering aroma of venison.
Strange. Each time she had roused from the fever, someone had been by her side, yet the corridor appeared deserted. No matter. She could find her way to the kitchen and serve herself.
As she wandered down the stairs, the hair on the back of her neck stood. She had never seen an empty main corridor. She crept toward the large doors to her right. If no one graced the great hall, she would run out to Robert.
She peered around the portal. The king sat at the center of the head table with Broderick to his right and a MacPherson on his left. A few chairs to the right, Laird Grant, an unknown man, and Randall’s brother Symon shoved food into their mouths faster than they could swallow. Laird Cameron, wine dribbling down his chin, sat in the last seat. Kasey’s heart thundered. She wanted to run, but her feet took root.
The servants cleared the tables. When one reached for the pitcher of wine, Laird Cameron snatched it from her hands.
Kasey gaped at the king’s silence. Did he not understand the danger of allowing the laird to drink his fill? How could she warn him without revealing her presence?
“What brings ye to this manor, lairds?”
“I request an end to the special tax.”
Her chest tightened. After the siege, she had prayed she would never hear her laird’s rasp again.
“What?” Alain Grant turned to him. “I thought ye wished to ask MacPherson’s aid?”
“For what purpose do ye seek my assistance?” the man next to the king asked.
Kasey wondered on which side MacPherson’s loyalty fell.
The king held up a hand for silence. “On what grounds do ye base yer request?”
“Lady Kasey has died.”
His lack of sorrow showed naught had changed. Her laird’s love of gold still exceeded his concern for her. She prayed the king did not reveal that she still lived.
Broderick clenched his jaw. “Can ye prove yer claim?”
Her laird retrieved a satchel from under the table and removed an armful of yellow cloth. “This be the kirtle Kasey wore when she departed.”
Kasey’s hands flew up to cover her mouth. The red and brown stains reminded her of not only her fear during the siege, but also her strength and determination. She would never truly live until fear no longer ruled her.
“If that be Kasey’s gown, ye have lapsed in yer duty to protect her, Laird Cameron.” The king drummed his fingers on the table, but the meek beat of nails against wood did not fool her. Red crept up his neck.
“I lost eighteen men, including Randall, that day. All because she wished to extend sympathy to Laird Grant for the loss of his wife.”
Eyebrows flew up on every face at the table like a flock of birds roused from a field.
The king turned to Laird Grant. “Another wife has died? How many be that now?”
“Four, sire.” Laird Grant turned to the Cameron. “Unless I include Lady Cameron. Though we had not yet spoken the vows—”
“Hold!” The king glared at Laird Cameron. “Laird Grant speaks as though he expected to wed Lady Kasey, but that canna be. Ye paid the levy because ye failed to cede Kasey to the man I declared her betrothed.”
Her eyes widened. Countless times her laird blamed the tax on her thievery. More lies.
“I tired of her cluttering my holding.”
“Ye needed but to turn her over to my emissary.”
Cameron rose, kicked away his chair, and rounded the table. He grabbed Broderick’s tunic and dragged him to his feet. “Ye wished me to turn her over to the likes of this? I wasted too many coins on the devil’s spawn to release her without profit.”
“Devil’s spawn? The pot calls the hearth black.” Broderick removed the Cameron’s hand, but remained nose to nose.
The king stepped between them. “Beside yer blatant disobedience, ye have yet to answer for yer wife’s death. I ken Brietta died by yer hand.”
Laird Cameron cackled. “And ye will do naught aboot it. Yer family’s reputation matters more than justice.”
The king straightened. “Ye be too sure of yerself, laird.”
“Yer father saddled me with a tainted bride who could birth naught but a bastard child—all to save yer family from scandal. Sentence me for Brietta’s death, and I shall bring to light yer cousin’s shame.”
Broderick clenched his teeth. “Ye dinna deserve Brietta or Kasey.”
Before Kasey could truly grasp the words the men flung at each other, Laird Cameron shoved the king to the floor, grabbed Broderick by the throat, and thrust him against the wall. Symon unsheathed his sword and held the point to the king’s chest. Laird Grant and his second-in-command each grabbed one of Laird MacPherson’s arms and dragged him through the hall’s back door.
Kasey threw a dagger into her laird’s back. She unsheathed her remaining dagger, but stopped from throwing it just in time.
From nowhere Hunter stepped between her and Symon. His arm muscles barely strained as he disarmed Symon and heaved him toward the entrance where she stood.
&
nbsp; Kasey’s heart pounded. She gained but four steps before Symon grabbed her and pulled her back against him. He grasped her hand and pulled the dagger she held to her throat.
“Before I kill ye, I must know how ye survived the siege when my brother dinna.” Symon pulled her tighter against his chest.
“Release her! Randall died by my hand.”
Kasey’s eyes widened at Hunter’s bellow. Her captor—not Hunter—had claimed to kill Randall.
“This matter concerns ye not, Mackintosh, but it be good to see ye.”
“I should think I be the last person ye wish to see.”
“Nay, milord. Yer presence saves us the trouble of seeking ye out. After Broderick, ye will die next.”
Kasey could not stand idly. She pushed against the dagger and let her legs go limp, dragging Symon down with her.
Hunter sprang to attack.
Symon dragged her to her feet. The blade nicked her.
“Dinna make me kill ye afore ye squirm beneath me.” Symon turned to Hunter. “Yer eyes tell me ye care for this cummer. Mayhap if ye taught her well, I will let her live.”
“Ye may gladly have my leftovers.” Connor crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Just this morn she writhed in bliss beneath me.”
Kasey glared at Hunter. Why would he make such a claim?
Ever so slightly, he tilted his brow.
She hoped she understood. “Ye call that bliss? I just wanted the deed done so I could seek another.” Careful not to move her head, she raised her gaze and batted her eyes. “Mayhap ye can show me heaven.”
Symon lowered the blade enough to look at her face.
Hunter grabbed Symon’s wrist, jerked the blade from Kasey’s throat, and squeezed between them. “Let her go or I shall break yer wrist.”
“Ye will break hers, too.”
“Release Lady Mackintosh’s hand or I shall run ye through.”
“Lady Mackintosh?” Symon shouted.
Denial screamed in Kasey’s mind. Whoever made the claim must be daft.
Images of Hunter flashed. She remembered a priest, too. But the fever had wrought the dream, had it not?
Hunter tugged her hand free. She hung as still as an icicle, unsure of what to say or do. He pushed her behind his back. She should be grateful. He had saved her—again. But if the claim held truth, she might kill him.